‘But you surrendered the glove, marquise!’ The baronne d’Orbec spoke judicially.

‘I flung it to the ground:  that made it neutral,’ said Renee.

‘Hum.  He wears it with the dust on it, certainly.’

‘And for how long a time,’ M. Livret wished to know, ’does this amusing young man proclaim his intention of wearing the glove?’

‘Until he can see with us that his Order of Merit is utter kid,’ said Madame d’Auffray; and as she had spoken more or less neatly, satisfaction was left residing in the ear of the assembly, and the glove was permitted to be swept away on a fresh tide of dialogue.

The admirable candour of Renee in publicly alluding to M. d’Henriel’s foolishness restored a peep of his holiday to Beauchamp.  Madame d’Auffray took note of the effect it produced, and quite excused her sister-in-law for intending to produce is; but that speaking out the half-truth that we may put on the mask of the whole, is no new trick; and believing as she did that Renee was in danger with the handsome Count Henri, the practice of such a kind of honesty on her part appeared alarming.

Still it is imprudent to press for confidences when our friend’s heart is manifestly trifling with sincerity.  Who knows but that some foregone reckless act or word may have superinduced the healthy shame which cannot speak, which must disguise itself, and is honesty in that form, but roughly troubled would resolve to rank dishonesty?  So thought the patient lady, wiser in that than in her perceptions.

Renee made a boast of not persuading her guest to stay, avowing that she would not willingly have him go.  Praising him equably, she listened to praise of him with animation.  She was dumb and statue-like when Count Henri’s name was mentioned.  Did not this betray liking for one, subjection to the other?  Indeed, there was an Asiatic splendour of animal beauty about M. d’Henriel that would be serpent with most women, Madame d’Auffray conceived; why not with the deserted Renee, who adored beauty of shape and colour, and was compassionate toward a rashness of character that her own unnatural solitariness and quick spirit made her emulous of?

Meanwhile Beauchamp’s day of adieu succeeded that of his holiday, and no adieu was uttered.  The hours at Tourdestelle had a singular turn for slipping.  Interlinked and all as one they swam by, brought evening, brought morning, never varied.  They might have varied with such a division as when flame lights up the night or a tempest shades the day, had Renee chosen; she had that power over him.  She had no wish to use it; perhaps she apprehended what it would cause her to forfeit.  She wished him to respect her; felt that she was under the shadow of the glove, slight though it was while it was nothing but a tale of a lady and a glove; and her desire, like his, was that they should meet daily and dream on, without a variation.  He noticed how seldom she led him beyond the grounds of the chateau.